


And I Will Find You

by lyingleia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter AU, Slow Burn, What am I doing, but they're not at Hogwarts, hints of magic, idek, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyingleia/pseuds/lyingleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Hermione meet in NYU.  Falling in love isn't so much like a dive headfirst, but a slow, quiet slide into home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> First posted at fanfiction.net (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9524484/1/And-I-Will-Find-You)
> 
> (Please bear in mind that I'm only winging everything here, as I'm not a Brit or an American, and I've never been to the US or UK, much less NYU. Please forgive me for any mistakes I might have made in this. Thank you and Enjoy!)
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter.

Harry meets her in the book shop a few blocks away from his dorm. He was already late for his 11AM class, and he was running as fast as he could, glasses askew and clothing rumpled, dodging people left and right. He'd been working late the night before, and went to sleep even later because he'd needed to study for an exam the next day.

He had been apologizing rather hastily to the girl he'd bumped into, still running, when a door to his right opened abruptly. Naturally, he crashed into it spectacularly, the impact jarring his vision, and sprawled awkwardly on the street.

"Ow -  _Fuck_." He swore, clutching his aching nose.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

It was the accent more than the words that had made him look up, seeing a girl with bushy brown hair staring down at him in concern.

"I - yeah. I'm alright, just a bit winded." He replied, blinking. The pain in his nose was receding, and his glasses didn't seem to be broken, thank god. They were new, just a month old, and he couldn't really afford to buy new ones right now.

"Are you sure? I'll take you to the clinic, if you'd like." The girl offered, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks." He assured her, dusting off his pants and fixing his glasses. "It was my fault anyway, running like that."

He gave her a polite smile, which she returned. She was pretty, he thought, in an understated kind of way. Her eyes were a warm honey, and she had a pretty smile, teeth straight and white.

"Well, if you say so."

For the first time, he noticed the pile of books she was carrying. They looked heavy.

"Uh, d'you want help with those?"

She blinked several times, before turning to the aforementioned books.

"Oh, no, no thank you. I'm used to carrying heavy books. I hardly ever feel them, now."

"We - "

There was a sudden ringing, and the girl dug into her bag, pulling out a slim phone. She gave him another smile before turning and answering it, crossing the street when the light went green.

"Yes? Oh! Yes, I'm sorry, Professor! I'll be there in five minutes. Yes, I have them right now. Alright."

'Huh,' Harry thought. It was the first time he'd encountered another Brit since he left England for America a year ago. He felt a tiny pang of nostalgia before he shook it off, running more sedately to class this time.

#

A week later, Harry was exiting his 3PM class when he saw her again, this time inside a nearby classroom and talking to an older man, presumably a professor of hers. She was nodding and scribbling something in her notebook while the man in front of her talked. He watched her for a moment, curious, before remembering about the paper he was supposed to write for his Literature class (he didn't know why he thought it was a good idea to take English Lit at the time, and he'd regretted it ever since. He liked to read, but he didn't like it  _that_  much.)

He glanced at the girl one last time before hurrying off, already constructing the introduction in his head.

#

Harry squinted at the words on the screen, skimming them one last time before deeming the paper as a lost cause and printing it. He thought it was good enough, he'd pointed out enough flaws he could possibly see in the book they'd been assigned to review (his professor always did say to not be afraid of criticizing published works, even the good ones), and he just hoped he'd at least get points for effort. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and wiping his glasses. He put them on and watched the printer spit out the pages. He had work tonight, but thankfully it wasn't until 7PM, so he had an hour or two to relax in his dorm before he had to go.

He worked at a bookshop a few blocks away from his dorm. He'd found it a week after he'd arrived in NYU, overwhelmed by the different culture and people, at how far away from England he'd gone. He had been wandering, getting himself used to the neighborhood, and he'd found himself in front of it, attracted to the **HELP WANTED**  sign hanging in front of the glass window. It looked tiny and cramped from the outside, but as soon as he'd stepped inside, he was surprised to see it was actually a lot bigger than he had previously thought. It had a cozy atmosphere, and the smell of paper reminded him of hours spent in the library hiding from his cousin Dudley and his minions. It was a comforting smell, and he decided then that he wouldn't mind working there.

The owner, a middle aged lady named Sherry, looked hesitant about hiring him at first, looking at him from head to toe, probably seeing how skinny he was and thinking he wouldn't be able to lift a pile of books without breaking something. But he could see the pity in her eyes, and knew that he'd get the job. Sometimes, Harry thought, it pays to be scrawny.

He had been working there for a little more than a year now, and he could honestly say he was happy there, as much as he could be while juggling it with his school work. It was busy, seeing as it was in a college neighborhood where students constantly looked for books they needed for a class, but it wasn't too busy that he couldn't study when it was a slow day. Plus, Sherry liked to give him the breads and brownies she made every week, which meant he at least ate something healthy once a week, two if she was feeling fond of him.

He took the small pile of papers from the printer and read them over again, nodding in satisfaction when he saw no typos. He stuffed them in his backpack, trying to remember if he had anything left to do before he went back to his dorm. When he couldn't recall anything, he closed the computer he used, slung his backpack on his shoulder, and walked towards the exit.

Harry paused when he caught a glimpse of familiar bushy hair bent over a book.

"Is that...?"

The girl straightened and rolled her shoulders. She was mid-yawn when she noticed him looking at her. Her cheeks flushed, and she waved at him, smiling. He waved back, looking at his watch before deciding he could stay for a few minutes. He was curious about her, seeing as she was the first Brit he'd met in his year at NYU, and it couldn't hurt to be friendly with someone right? He never really had friends growing up, most of them scared away by Dudley and his friends and the rest turned off by his...weirdness. He couldn't fault them, he'd be ignoring himself too, if he could.

Harry supposed Clara counted as a friend, but they only ever really hung out at the shop when they were both working because she was always busy with her school work, and her other friends. So they didn't get to talk as much as much friends usually would, and since he didn't really talk to anybody else, he was always alone. He didn't mind, he was used to it anyway.

He felt a bit apprehensive and shy, hoping he wouldn't come off as weird and awkward to her. He'd never done this before, not really, but she looked nice enough that he hoped she wouldn't find his awkwardness off putting.

"Uh, hi." He greeted her, torn between sitting down and just standing.

"Hi." She seemed a bit shy, too, looking up at him through her lashes. He was fascinated by how long they were.

Harry said  _fuck it_  in his head and just sat down in the chair in front of her, putting his backpack down on the floor. He cleared his throat.

"So, where are you from? You  _are_  from England, right?" He asked, hastily adding the last question.

Her smile widened and she nodded.

"Yeah, I am. I'm from London, you?"

"Surrey."

"We're a bit far from home, aren't we?" She replied.

He shrugged, feeling the awkwardness gradually recede as he slowly relaxed. He could do this, he _could_.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name?" She asked politely, curious eyes on his.

"Oh, oh yeah. Um, it's Harry. Harry Potter." He answered, a little embarrassed. He could feel the back of his neck heating up. He should probably stop stuttering,  _god_. 'Pull yourself together, Potter!,' he thought.

She put her hand in front of him.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Hermione Granger."


	2. Two

Harry never really understood why his Aunt Petunia hated his mum and dad. Growing up, all he'd gotten for an answer from her were that his dad was a  _'horrible man who led my gullible, idiot sister astray'_  and a firm ear twisting. He doubted that his parents were horrible people, since his memories of them were warm, gentle hands and happy smiles, soothing voices calling his name and laughter echoing and bouncing off of the walls.

He had been three years old when they died from a car crash, according to his aunt, and he was then thrown into the welcoming arms of the Dursleys, who never went a day without reminding how much he was a nuisance to them, in all his fifteen years living under their roof. Harry didn't like to think of those years often, since they always made him feel sad, and angry. He'd been angry most of his life living under their thumb, he thought, at the unfairness of it all. Even now, with him a thousand miles away, in another country, with an ocean between him and the Dursleys, he felt the anger burning at a low simmer, the weight of it in his heart, and its bitterness in his tongue.

**_Riiiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing._ **

Harry sighed, rubbing his hands over his face in irritation, and shut off his alarm with a hard smack against the clock. He sat up, groping for his glasses in the bedside table and put them on. His room was alight with the sunlight streaming through his curtain-less window, and he could hear the noise of busy people going through their busy days outside. He shook his head when his eyes landed on the pile of laundry by his bedroom door, making a mental note of taking them to the laundry shop when he got back from his 2PM Criminology class later.

He stretched a bit, hearing his dorm mates' chatter outside, probably in the kitchen. They tended to gather there since most of them had morning classes to go to, their semester schedules not allowing for afternoon ones. He padded towards his desk, and began stuffing his notes and books for his 10AM Theories of Justice and 1:30PM Political Theory classes into his backpack. It was going to be a grueling day, he could tell, since he had Jameson as a professor today. That guy had an uncanny ability to call Harry when he least expected it, asking him questions he obviously didn't know the answer to.

There was a knock on his door and Will opened the door. He was holding the phone to his ear, speaking.

"Yeah, he's awake, Mrs. Thompson. No, I didn't wake him, yeah, okay. Here."

He held the phone towards Harry, who immediately took it with a nod of thanks to Will. He heard the door close as he said,

"Hi, Sherry? Is everything alright? Did your visit to the doctor's go well?"

"Yes, yes. I'm alright. It went well, Harry dear. Thank you for asking." Sherry's voice spoke in the speaker.

Harry frowned, hearing the hoarseness in her voice, still.

"Are you sure? You don't seem alright. D'you need me to come over?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's just the residual cold, don't worry. But I'm afraid I still can't go to the book shop today. Clara's there already, she took another morning shift but she can't stay after 5:30. Can you cover it for me?"

Harry walked over to the bathroom across his room, turning on the lights and looking himself over in the mirror, thinking.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. I can. My classes end around 5. Don't worry about it, Sherry. I'll take care of it." He assured her, combing through his unruly hair, trying to tame it. It refused to stay put like always, so he shrugged.

"Thank you dear. I'll make you a batch of those cookies you like when I get back."

He smiled, removing his glasses. He blinked at the sudden foggy vision, adjusting.

"Yeah, no problem. Just take care of yourself, I'll handle the shop until you get back."

When the call ended, he put the phone down by the sink beside his glasses and opened the faucet, letting the hot water warm his cold fingers. With a sigh, he dunked his head under the running water and breathed.

#

"Excuse me, do you have that book I was looking for last week?"

Harry looked up from the notes he was rereading to see Hermione at the counter. She grinned when she saw that it was him.

"Harry! Hi. I didn't know you worked here," she stated, placing the books she was carrying on the counter and adjusting her bag's strap. It was probably digging into her shoulder. Her bag looked heavy, he noted absently.

He shrugged, giving her a small smile of his own. Their chat last week in the library had been short, lasting all of two minutes before she had to leave for a class, so it was nice to see her again. Harry resisted patting his hair down into submission.

"It didn't come up. So, what was that book you were talking about?" he asked, putting his notes aside and standing up, smoothing down the plain black apron that was their uniform. It had the shop's name printed on front in curly letters:  **Book Ends**. He still wasn't sure if it was meant to be a joke or something. Sherry had a weird sense of humor sometimes.

"They're for a class of mine,  _Race and Ethnicity in Today's Society by Frank Herring._ "*

He looked through the notes they kept of the books that were delivered every week and confirmed her order, nodding.

"Yeah, it's here. Just a minute."

He went to the back of the shop to the pile of books in one of the tables. They hadn't had time to sort them yet, with Sherry suddenly getting sick over the weekend and Clara busy with her paper. He'd volunteered to start sorting them, but Sherry had been adamant with him getting time off.

 _'You barely even have time off, Harry. You're always busy with your classes and your work here. I don't want you to exhaust yourself,'_ she stated over the phone last Friday night.

She was a stubborn lady who always insisted she was right. Harry felt a small fond smile lift the corners of his lips. Sometimes, he imagined his grandmother would've been just like Sherry if she was still alive, but she'd died when he was only a year old, following her husband who'd left her years prior. He didn't know if his paternal grandparents were still alive, as Aunt Petunia refused to tell him about his dad.

He found the book Hermione was asking for inside one of the unopened boxes. It was thick and but not too heavy, so she probably wouldn't have trouble carrying it alongside the other books she'd already been toting. He stood up and dusted his pants before turning to go back to the front of the shop. He saw Hermione browsing through the fiction aisle while he got back behind the counter to ring her up. He glanced at the books she'd been carrying earlier and saw that they were all sociology titles.

"Do you want me to wrap this up?" he asked when she walked back to the counter.

"No, I'm planning to read it later," she replied, handing him the money.

He handed her her change as she continued,

"So, what're you here in NYU for?"

"I've decided to major in Politics, with a minor in Law and Society," he mumbled, suddenly feeling shy with her curious eyes on him.

"Hmm, you planning on taking up Law later?" she asked with a smile.

"Maybe. You?"

"I'm thinking of majoring in Social and Cultural Analysis. I've already taken up Anthropology as a minor. I'm really enjoying the social science courses here."

He perked up.

"That's right, you said you were a transferee. From where?"

"Oxford," she said, shrugging timidly, suddenly looking shy.

"That's a really good school, why'd you transfer? Not that NYU isn't a good school, it's just..." he trailed off, at a loss.

She sighed, scratching her neck nervously.

"I know. I just...I decided I needed a change of scenery, you know?"

He nodded. He could understand the desire.

"Well, I'm sure it's their loss, not yours." He stated, trying for sincere and probably ending up awkward.

She gave him a small grin, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks pink. Harry felt his own neck warm up.

"Thanks, Harry."

#

Harry skidded to a stop in front of his US History classroom door, willing his heart to calm down and wiping the swear from his forehead. He still had a minute before the class bell rings and he immediately navigated through the sea of people clamoring for seats for a vacant one by the glass window**, managing to place his backpack on it before a meaty guy sat on it. Said guy gave him a dirty look, which he replied to with an innocent smile, before turning away. He smirked and sat down, putting his bag down on the floor in front of him and enjoying the warm sunlight hitting him through the window. The weather was nice today, the usual cloudy New York opening up its sky to let the sun in. He was looking forward to taking a sedate walk back to the dorm later, his class would end around 2PM and it was a Friday, so there wouldn't be many people around, most of them would be out on parties all night.

"Harry?"

Startled, he turned and saw Hermione looking down at him.

"Hey. You're in this class too?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

He glanced at the seat in question, noting the small space.

"Are you sure? I don't think you'd be able to sit very comfortably..."

She smiled and nodded, taking the aforementioned seat. Harry caught a whiff of her perfume, a hint of citrus and pine wood. It was a good smell.

"There are no other seats left," she said, gesturing at the room as a whole. "So it's not like I have a choice. It was my fault anyway, for being late. I was just a bit enthusiastic with the debate in my Gender and Sexuality class, I couldn't help but ask my professor about some of the things he said in class." She laughed a bit, although he could hear the slight awkwardness to it.

Harry shifted in his seat, hoping to give her more space. It wasn't until he had successfully squished himself between her and the window that he was satisfied she was sitting more comfortably. She gave him another smile in thanks. He caught another whiff of her scent, heady and addicting, and realised they had to be squished together for two hours.

**Fuck.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *NOT A REAL BOOK, as far as I know.
> 
> **okay, so the classrooms I imagined in my imaginary version of NYU is that they're like this http:/www./~/media/Images/Wabash/classroom1.ashx except the seats themselves are like, continuous? Like the ones in churches, but are more, you know, comfortable. Because if they weren't the scene above wouldn't make a lick of sense. (remove the spaces and the brackets.)


	3. Three

When Harry was a kid, he thought he had magic.

He was ten at the time, and the Dursleys had been forced to take him to the zoo with them because his usual nanny, elderly Mrs. Figg had died the day before and they couldn't find a replacement at such short notice. Not going to the zoo hadn't even been an option, because Dudley had been threatening to have a tantrum both Petunia and Vernon Dursley were both eager to prevent. So off they went, Harry quietly trailing behind them, trying to be unassuming as much as he could.

They were in the lizard section, Dudley making faces at the boa snake, and Harry could tell that it was getting more and more irritated with how louder its hissing got. Dudley was leaning on the glass and Harry had the single thought - _what would happen if the glass disappeared?_  - and then the next thing he knew, the glass did indeed disappear and his cousin had fallen in screaming bloody murder, his aunt and uncle frantic and trying to pull him back, shouting for the guards to help them, people panicking.

Meanwhile, the snake had slowly slithered out, turning its long body towards him, and hissed its thanks before slithering off.

He hadn't told his aunt and uncle about it, never did, because he couldn't believe it himself, and he'd have been branded a liar and a freak by them if he had. He couldn't bring himself to give them more ammo to bring him down even more.

Since then, he had dreams about a giant taking him away, a boat ride to a castle, floating candles, old men with long grey beards, talking paintings, merpeople, warm happy Christmases spent in front of fires, flying horses, werewolves and  **magic**.

About being happy.

He still thinks about it sometimes, on slow days, on sleepless nights. Of strange words he thinks he should know by heart, of histories he read on a quiet room lit by a fireplace, of little creatures squeaking out his name, of laughter shared over breakfasts, of feeling the wind rush against his face and the thrill of the chase, of feeling the rightness of  _home._

Sometimes he feels it, a tingle in his right hand, and when he curls his hand he feels something missing.

#

It was raining.

Harry sat inside the bookshop in one of the comfortable armchairs placed right in front of the shop's single window, idly munching on one of Sherry's promised raisin cookies. He was on his break, he'd been in the shop all day because it was Wednesday and he didn't have any class on Wednesdays. Clara was manning the counter, chatting with one of the customers who Harry thought might be in one of her classes and who obviously liked her. He glanced at them, smiling slightly as he watched Clara beam at the guy. He might've asked her on a date. The guy -  _Jake?_  - had been coming to the shop for weeks, idling in the aisles and sneaking glances at Clara, randomly picking books to buy when she was on the counter for the chance to speak with her, if only for a minute. Harry could sympathize.

He had been watching them circle around each other for those weeks Jake had been here and he was relieved that the guy finally got his act together. Good, he thought, turning back to the window and finishing his cookie, Clara deserves to be happy after that prat of a boyfriend of hers, who'd cheated on her numerous times in the month that they'd been together before Clara decided she couldn't take it anymore and broke up with him.

He absentmindedly sipped at his tea, feeling ridiculously British. He never really understood the Americans' obsession with coffee and Starbucks, and sometimes he liked to remember and wallow on the comforts of England.

The bell above the door tinkled with the entrance of more customers. He drank the rest of his tea.

#

Harry smiled at Hermione as he headed towards where she was seated in the classroom. He was pleasantly surprised to see that she had reserved a seat for him beside her, removing her bag from its place on the seat and gesturing for him to sit. He did, placing his bag beside hers on the floor. They had compared schedules after their US History class last Friday and discovered they had two more classes with each other, English Lit and a Politics course. He still remembered the pleased smile on Hermione's face and felt his own widening.

Today was their Politics class (Nietzsche and the 20th Century), and he knew Hermione was really looking forward to the discussion  _(I made a paper about him years ago, he was a fascinating man_ ) so he knew he mustn't disturb her. He wasn't much of a conversationalist anyway, so it worked out alright.

She nudged him gently with her elbow. He turned to look at her, and she offered him a kisses chocolate, popping one into her mouth with a grin. He took it and put it into his own mouth, savoring the burst of sweetness in his tongue with a grin of his own.

#

"So Clara," He saw her perk up from where she had been nearly dozing behind the counter. He smirked from his place at the travel aisle, checking if the books were in their right order. "How was your date last night?"

Clara immediately beamed, cheeks nearly as red as her hair and gray eyes smiling.

"It was great! Jake took me to that movie I really wanted to see, and then we walked around Central Park for awhile, just talking. He was so sweet, and thoughtful and funny and really shy. It was cute. We're gonna go on another date tomorrow night." She gushed at him, practically vibrating with glee.

He grinned at her excitement.

"That's good. I'm glad he seems to be a decent bloke. I might've had to whack him with one of our heavier books if he hadn't."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Ah, but I don't think Sherry would've liked that. She might have whacked  _you_ , if you had."

He shrugged, plopping down on one of the armchairs by the counter.

"But seriously, thanks a lot, Harry. For being worried." She stated, patting his shoulder gently. "It means a lot."

He glanced at the pale scar in her arm, peeking through her long-sleeved shirt, and could see in his mind's eye how painful it would have been as an open wound, and how it still must hurt to see everyday, as a reminder. He rubbed at his side gingerly, and gave her a smile.

Sherry did like to take in strays.

#

Harry was on his way to his dorm, looking forward to an hour nap before he had to go to the bookshop, when he saw Hermione. She was sitting on one of the stairs in front of the library, a book open in her lap. It wasn't unusual, but she wasn't reading at all. He paused, debating whether or not he should go and speak to her. She looked like she was in another place, eyes distant and blank. He looked at his watch and sighed. He wasn't really all that tired anyway.

As he was nearing, he saw her clutching a piece of paper - maybe a letter? - in her hand. He realised she was shaking and pale.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" he asked, sitting down beside her. There was no response.

He hesitated for a moment, before placing a hand on her arm and gently shaking her.

"Hermione?"

She jumped, head whipping around to stare at him, eyes wide.

"H-harry? What...what is it?" she asked, voice slightly hoarse. She stuffed the letter in her bag and closed the book in her lap before sliding it inside as well. The sound of her zipping her bag was uncharacteristically loud.

"I was passing by and I noticed you looked a bit pale. Are you okay?" he asked, watching her with concern.

She nodded, twisting the strap of her bag in her fingers nervously. She didn't look at him.

"Yes, I'm alright. Had a bit of a cold yesterday, that's all. I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" he prodded. She still looked a little pale, but her shaking had stopped.

Hermione sighed, smoothing away the stray hairs on her face. She glanced at him and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm okay, really."

Harry doubted it, but knew his concern wouldn't be much appreciated if he kept prodding her, so he let it go. He opened his bag and took one of the numerous receipts littering inside. He took out his pen from a side pocket and scribbled his dorm's telephone number on the paper. He hesitated before writing the shop's number down as well, with his name under. He handed it to her, eyes averted, and mumbled,

"Here. Call me if you want to talk. The one on top is for my dorm, the bottom is for the shop. I don't have a cellphone, sorry."

She took it, reading it silently, contemplatively. She looked at him again, eyes bright and curious, with wariness creeping around the edges.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked quietly. "I won't have sex with you, if that's what you're after."

Harry's jaw dropped open in shock, face turning crimson. He spluttered, hurt and a little angry,

" _What?_  What're you talking about? Of course not! I don't expect you to - Where would you even get that idea? I'm  **not**  like that, god. I would never do that. I - I thought you could use a friend. I just. _I just wanted to help._ "

He stood up, wringing his hands. It hurt, because he'd thought they were friends. Guess not. He should've known better, really.

"Look, if you don't want to call me, that's fine. Throw the paper away or whatever. Sorry to have bothered you.

He stalked away, ignoring the twinge in his heart. It's fine, he thought,  _it's fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate the random tense changes! It's like, my brain can't decide if I want the words to be present or past tense. And then I don't change some of them because I really like how the sentence is structured. *throws up hands* Whatever, I'll try to not do that in the future.


	4. Chapter Four

Harry had just gotten back from the laundry shop, clothes a bit wet from the sudden downpour outside, when he heard Paul call out his name. Puzzled, he followed the sound of his voice and found him in the kitchen, holding the dorm phone in his hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other.

"Yeah?"

"It's for you. Someone called Hermione?" Paul told him, handing the phone to him before wandering off, presumably to the living room where all of his other dorm mates were playing some kind of video game, cursing at each other good naturedly and generally ignoring him. They didn't like him, not really, but they left him alone and didn't bother him so Harry didn't mind. It was more than Dudley had ever done for him. He took the phone with a frown.

"Thanks."

He padded towards his room, placing the basket of clothes he was carrying by the door. He looked at the phone in his hand, hesitating. With a shake of his head, he quietly closed the door and held the phone to his ear, muttering,

"Yeah?"

"Oh! Uh, hi. Um, Harry? This is Hermione." Her voice was shaky, nervous.

He grunted.

"I just called to apologize. About the other day. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you were... _that_  kind of person."

He sighed, scrubbing at his eyes tiredly.

"Yeah, I figured."

"It's just that...I've had bad experiences with those kinds of guys before and I didn't want a repeat performance." She explained softly.

"You mean Nice guys?" He asked, feeling somewhat indignant, thoroughly flabbergasted. Nice Guys were arseholes. They were those people who did nice things for the girls they liked, with the expectation that they'd be liked in return if they did said things, and if their affections weren't returned by the girls they'd been wooing, they'd go on to claim that they'd been 'friendzoned' and that the girl in question was obviously 'blind' or a 'bitch' to not see their brilliance. It was problematic, because those kind of guys thought they deserved the girl's affections, as if it were their _right_. He'd felt a mixture of horror and disgust when he'd found out about it in a class of his a few months ago, not knowing that there were people out there who thought that way, as if love was something that wasn't earned, that it was something that could be bought. He couldn't fathom how people thought it was something so easily acquired and discarded, when it was wasn't. Love wasn't something he'd had growing up with the Dursleys, but he knew its worth. Love was lullabies, the warmth of his mother's embrace and his father's laugh. _Love was precious_.

He'd held on to the scraps of his parents love for so long, it was impossible to think of it as anything but precious.

He shook his head again, plopping down on his bed. He propped his head in one arm while the other continued to hold the phone to his ear. He sighed.

"I can see how you could've thought I was one of those people, but really, I'm not. I...don't do relationships. I don't date."

There was a long pause, one that had him checking if she was still connected. Seeing that she was, he called out quietly,

"Hermione? Are you still there?"

"I...yeah. I'm here." Another pause. "I'm sorry."

He sighed again, the sound loud in the relative quiet of his room .

"Look, it's not your fault. I admit, it's offensive but I understand how you could've thought that, and I understand your caution. It's fine, now. At least we cleared that up, right?"

"Yes, you're right. Still, I'm sorry. I should've asked you first before accusing you."

"It's fine. You don't need to apologize, Hermione. I understand. And you did ask, just..."

"...in an aggressive tone of voice that would make anyone defensive."

There was a short silence, then Hermione said,

"I can't seem to get this right."

"What?"

"I've...I've never had friends before. So, I don't know what I'm doing, really." was her quiet response.

Harry was bemused. He had noticed she seemed shyer, more withdrawn than other people tended to be, but he thought it was just a part of her personality. He'd noticed that she never really had anyone else she talked to except him, but he'd thought he just didn't see them when he saw her. Just another reminder that assumptions were dangerous.

"I've had study mates, project partners, but not friends. People tended to find my personality off-putting, I have no idea why." She laughed, but it only made him feel sad. There was no joy in it, only a long buried hurt trying to pass off as nonchalance.

He closed his eyes and ignored the twinge in his heart. They were a pair of kindred souls, after all.

"You were my first friend, so I felt awful. You've been nothing but kind to me since we met and I suddenly accuse you of being an arsehole!" She laughed again, the sound making him feel horrible because it wasn't how she laughed, it was all wrong, _stop it Hermione_. "Some friend I am, right? Maybe this is why the other kids didn't like me back then, because I was awful to them, I always just had to know everything and had to be the best at  _everything_. I was an insufferable kid, and you don't grow out of that."

"Hermione,  _stop_. I told you, it's okay now. I understand. Don't hurt yourself anymore. Stop thinking what you're thinking about now. It's alright." He said firmly, sitting up again, his fist clenched from where it was perched on his knee.

He heard her inhale sharply. "But you don't know what I'm thinking about."

"I might not know what it is specifically, but I know it's some kind of awful memory, that it still hurts. You don't need to explain to me why you did what you did. It's enough that I know there was a reason for it. Stop pressing on an open wound when it's not bleeding anymore."

She chuckled, and Harry hadn't realised she had been crying.

"You sound like my therapist."

He didn't say anything.

"I - thanks, Harry. We're still friends, right?"

The way she asked the question hurt Harry. She'd sounded like she thought he would say no, and had already resigned herself to the fact.

"Yes, we are." He replied resolutely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even remotely happy with this (okay, maybe there are some parts that I like, a little, little bit) but fudge it, I'm uploading it. *throws up hands*
> 
> I'd already written a draft for this chapter ages ago, it wasn't finished but I liked how it flowed and Harmony's conversation but then when I opened the file two weeks ago, it only had like two paragraphs. TWO! So, that sucked. I'd been busy so I couldn't finish the first draft and couldn't write this one. Add that to the suckage of having the draft I really liked disappear so I had to write a new one WHERE I COULDN'T REMEMBER HALF OF WHAT I ORIGINALLY WROTE IN THE FIRST ONE is like, major, major suckage. But the good news is that I'm on school break for a month so I whipped this up (after getting off my sad funk about what happened)! And hopefully I'll be able to write more chapters this October. So yay!
> 
> I've been trying to figure out how I'm going to go about this, and so far I have some idea. Hopefully it'll work out. Welp, I'm (HOPEFULLY please please please) graduating college in April, by the way. The main reason why I've been so busy. HURRAH! *wimpers because unemployment*
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. I whipped this up today (no joke) after I read a few Harmony fics. And in one of those fics, it had a line that basically said, even if Harmony were muggles, they'd still find each other, and I just.
> 
> I've been thinking of making this fic for a few years, I just didn't because of reasons. But I was struck by inspiration and I just, I couldn't not write it, you know?
> 
> Anyways, as I've said at the beginning, I'm just winging and making things up as I go. Please don't take anything or any place I write in this canon, because they're not.
> 
> Also, I DON'T KNOW WHAT AM I DOING OMG.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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